


What if I fall? (Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?)

by roe87



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Beefy Bucky, Circus, Circus Performers, Crushes, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Russian Bucky Barnes, Secret Crush, Shy Steve Rogers, Soft Stucky, Trapeze, Wooing, aerial acts, aerialist Bucky, steve has a crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 15:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14523531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roe87/pseuds/roe87
Summary: Steve is a circus hand, a grunt-worker.Bucky is an aerial performer, a big star. He's so far out of Steve's league, it would never happen between them.But Steve is head over heels for him anyway.





	What if I fall? (Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?)

 

 

Steve raised the heavy hammer high above his head, using all of his strength to wield it. Grunt work wasn't called grunt work for nothing. He brought the hammer down, hitting the stake in front of him square into the ground.

One stake down, only another few dozen to go, and the sideshow tents would be secured.

Thor was working a little ways off, swinging his own hammer and chatting away as he did.

Steve had to concentrate on his task, so he didn't chat. He hadn't been doing this as long as Thor or the other workers. Steve had only joined the circus a year ago.

He raised the hammer again, when a voice called, "Steve?"

It was Natasha, one of the aerialists and a big star of the circus.

_Uh oh._

Steve brought the hammer down onto the next peg, then relaxed his grip, letting the hammer rest on the ground as he turned to greet her. "Hey," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow with his free hand.

He always felt a bit gross in the presence of the big stars, the ones who wore glittering costumes in the spotlights and drew the biggest crowds.

Natasha wasn't dressed up right now, as the circus didn't open until tomorrow. Today she was in sweats and a hooded top that had _Fury's Fantastical Circus_ embroidered on the front pocket.

"You got a minute?" she asked. "Bucky needs a strong hand."

Steve's stomach swooped, but he tried not to let it show.

"M-me?"

Nat inspected her nails, seemingly bored. "Yes, if you go to meet him in the training tent?"

"Okay... you mean now?"

"Yes, now." She gave him a small smile before strutting off.

Steve gulped, and tried to remain calm. It wasn't a problem, he went where he was told, that was his job. If the big stars needed a hand, well, he'd go do that too.

He cleared his throat and called over to Thor that he had to go. Thor waved him off with a smile, and Steve squared his shoulders before leaving to find Bucky.

It wasn't a problem, it was just... Steve had spent the last week and a half trying to avoid Bucky, ever since that night of one too many vodka shots.

 

The thing about Bucky was...

Well, his name wasn't even Bucky, it was Yasha Dimitre Nikolayev; he was from Russia, but he also held American citizenship and had another name, as far as Steve understood, and Bucky was a nickname.

Steve didn't exactly known him well. Steve was only a circus hand, and there were _lots_ of circus hands. Bucky was an aerial performer, and there were only a few of aerialists– four, to be exact. Natasha, Bucky, Wanda, and Pietro. The aerial shows were one of the circus's biggest draws; they sold the tickets, they were what people came to see and what _paid_ everybody who worked at the circus.

Bucky was a star, and so far out of Steve's league that mooning after him was sheer folly. So Steve just pined away quietly, like he'd been doing from the very first time he laid eyes on Bucky, waiting in the wings for his act and wearing skintight black and silver spandex, his long dark hair tied back in a bun, and glittery black make-up smeared around his eyes.

He was so beautiful, so incredibly gorgeous, but he'd noticed Steve staring and instead of ignoring him, Bucky had _winked_ at him, and smiled.

It was a good thing Bucky had then had to get into position and start climbing up the rigging, because Steve had remained stock still with surprise, his heart lodged in his throat.

He'd even told himself then, _get it together, Steve, a wink doesn't mean anything._

Bucky seemed to be a bit of a flirt anyway, from what Steve had seen, so it very probably didn't mean anything.

Except that Steve's romantic soul had decided, _nuh-uh, sorry, pal. Got my sights set on that one whether you like it or not._

And so had begun Steve's year long crush on the hunky aerialist who kept himself to himself.

All four of them did, actually, often huddled together speaking in foreign languages as they trained, or staying in their comfortable trailers that only the big acts got.

Steve shared one of the crew trailers, because he was pretty low in the pecking order. Still, his bunk-mates were nice enough. It was just another reminder that Bucky was way out of his league. Although Steve sometimes entertained fantasies late at night, staring up at the bunk above him, of becoming a big star himself, and having an act to wow the crowds, and earn everyone's approval.

But Steve had no idea what he'd even do as a performance, so that dream was on hold.

It was one of the long-standing circus acts and top draws, The Fabulous Hawkeye, who did the knife throwing and the arrow shooting (all while dressed in purple spandex) who'd given Steve a small grain of hope.

Hawkeye, Clint, was American, and he seemed to have something going on with Natasha. Steve had noticed them once or twice, walking back to his trailer late at night, and spotted them making out in the dark.

Steve had assumed that Bucky and Natasha were a couple, but once he knew about Clint and Natasha, Steve had paid more attention to how Bucky was with Nat.

While they were definitely close, it appeared the pair of Russians were more platonic than romantic.

And Steve's soul yearned, pining after Bucky harder than ever. Which was kind of why, after almost a whole year of crushing on him, the unfortunate vodka incident had occurred a week and a half ago, and he'd kind of made a fool of himself in front of Bucky.

Hence the avoiding.

But now he was on his way to see Bucky.

Steve was screwed, basically.

 

He walked into the tent, and saw Bucky up ahead in the middle of the ring. Steve plastered on a friendly smile and went over to him.

"Hey, Buck. Natasha said you need a hand?"

Bucky fixed Steve with a look, and it was hard not to squirm under that gaze. Bucky's eyes were a piercing blue-gray, and even without his dramatic stage make-up, he still looked striking.

Thankfully he released Steve from the intense look, and handed him one of the silk ropes.

"You can point?" he asked softly.

Bucky always spoke softly when he spoke in English. His words still hit Steve with the force of a ten ton truck.

"Uh... me?" he said, holding the thick, stiff rope in his hands. "Wouldn't you rather–"

Bucky gave Steve a look, so Steve shut up.

Whatever the stars wanted, they got.

"Okay, right," Steve said, mostly to himself.

Bucky was busy chalking his hands. Steve tried not to watch, tried not to stare so openly. Bucky was just so gorgeous, in black leggings and a simple tank, not his usual show-stopping costume, but still skintight and showing off his toned, muscular body.

Not that Steve was looking.

He averted his eyes down, to Bucky's bare feet. The aerialists all worked in bare feet, or sometimes with socks when they trained. Bucky's feet were bare today, and Steve once again noticed the small red star tattooed on his left foot.

Steve didn't know what the tattoo meant, if it was just to look nice, or if it was to do with Russia. One of the many, many things he'd always wanted to ask Bucky, except he didn't because he was too self-conscious to strike up small talk.

And, the burning question on his mind today was, why had Bucky asked for _him?_ Steve hardly ever worked with the aerial equipment, the most he'd done so far was yank on weighted ropes behind the bleachers during show time, lifting the performers high into the air.

He'd never worked one-on-one like this in training.

Which led to another burning question: did Bucky remember _that night_ , or had he been too drunk as well, and just forgotten?

Steve had no idea, and there was no way he would bring it up either, he was far too embarrassed.

Bucky grabbed hold of the rope with one hand as he flicked his long hair back. He had it half up and half down today.

Absolutely gorgeous, of course. Steve had once heard Clint refer to the style as his 'pretty princess hairdo', which had earned the archer some titters until Bucky took one of Clint's knives and threw it at him, narrowly missing his head.

No one made fun of Bucky's hair after that. Steve thought Bucky looked pretty, though.

He was a little taken by surprise when Bucky stepped right up into his space, almost eye to eye, but Steve was a touch taller. "Steve," he said, looking at him with a mild frown as Steve stared back adoringly, "you need to move."

"Oh." Steve snapped out of it, and shuffled back a couple paces, working the rope through his hands to give Bucky room.

"More," Bucky said, watching calmly. "More. Yes, that is fine."

Steve waited, held onto his rolls of rope as Bucky turned to the rope and pulled himself up. His arm muscles bunched and tensed, taking his weight. Bucky already had one foot on the rope below him, toes gripping it for balance as he began to climb the rope, hands and feet moving quickly and making it look easy.

And it certainly wasn't easy, Steve knew; it needed strength, endurance, and a good sense of balance.

Bucky zipped up the rope, all the way to the top of the tent.

This wasn't the big top, but it had to be thirty feet at least, and there was no net below them, not even a soft mat. If Bucky fell, Steve would probably have a heart attack.

But Bucky was a professional, and he remained up in the air, far out of Steve's reach. Bucky wrapped himself up in the rope, so he was secure, then proceeded to do some stretches suspended in the air.

Steve watched, because it was always a treat to watch Bucky up there, but he also started to wonder why Bucky had asked for him. The aerialists trained on their own all the time, they didn't usually need assistance.

So, either Bucky was going to try something new today, or...

Or, he wanted Steve to watch him?

Steve swallowed, and watched Bucky far above him on the rope, stretching his body out and turning slowly over, winding and unwinding the knot of rope around his middle as he changed his pose.

He held the poses beautifully, Steve thought. And after a few warm up poses, Bucky climbed higher and went to adjust the rigging in the scaffold.

Steve was one of the riggers, whenever tents were packed up or erected, but only the most experienced riggers handled the aerial scaffold itself.

When Bucky had made his adjustments, he unhooked one of the weights, calling for Steve to mind out below.

"Clear!" Steve called back.

A moment later a large sandbag dropped to the floor, its coil of rope looping down over it.

"Steve," Bucky called down, balanced on both rope and scaffold, "remove the weight, and hold the rope. Don't let go."

"Got it." Steve understood what he needed to do.

He still didn't get why Bucky had wanted him to hang around this long though.

Steve untied the bag and took hold of the rope, wrapping it around his forearm, then moved to stand in the outer circle of the ring.

"Okay!" he called.

Bucky climbed back onto his rope, and Steve felt his weight, some of it supported by the pulley system, but Steve had control.

"Lower slowly," Bucky instructed. "A wide arc."

"Wide arc," Steve muttered to himself, taking a couple more steps back, then he very slowly fed the rope through his hands, watching Bucky descend through the air, graceful as a ballet dancer, his toes pointed and the arm that was free extended outwards, reaching to an imaginary audience right now but it was still breathtaking to watch.

Steve managed to lower Bucky in a smooth arc, until he got close enough to the floor for his feet to touch.

"Good," Bucky said, as he stood and gathered his rope back up. "Same again, but raise me up."

"Okay," Steve agreed, nervous and thrilled all at once.

They adjusted the rope lengths between them, and this time Steve pulled on the rope while Bucky held onto it, and was raised up in the air. He flipped upside down, wriggling himself into a position. Steve slowed his pull until Bucky was ready.

Bucky tied the rope around his middle, then hung upside down with one leg held straight up, coiled with the rope for balance, his other leg pointed out in a perfect right angle.

Bucky let go of the rope, his hands now free and arms spread out. Steve pulled again, continuing the ascension as Bucky held his pose. Steve walked in a slow circle on the floor, moving Bucky through the air.

Steve had seen Bucky do this before, all on his own using the weights, and also during shows when he would go much faster, and had stage hands pull the ropes for him.

Still, doing this now with just them was pretty exciting.

Steve listened out for instruction, and at Bucky's request they did another descent, and ascent. When Bucky was back up top for the third time, he said he was coming down on the rope, and asked Steve to count his turns.

"Sure!" Steve replied.

Bucky looped himself into a special knot, then slowly tumbled down the length of the rope, his arms and legs holding a perfect starfish pose.

Steve counted the turns. Bucky came closer to the floor, and Steve stood back a ways to give him room.

Except Bucky paused a few feet from the ground, suspended in the rope. He twisted his body to inspect the rope around his middle, said something in Russian, then beckoned Steve over.

"What's up?" Steve asked, looking to see what was wrong.

"Will you catch me?" Bucky asked. "I need to undo this."

"Uh, y-yeah." Steve rushed in, immediately concerned. "Okay, I'm here."

Bucky was already dangling in front of him like a worm on a hook. (A very hot worm.) Steve opened his arms and held them out, ready.

Bucky was still a foot or so out of reach, and as Steve braced himself, Bucky turned once more in the air, bringing his body lower and right into Steve's waiting arms.

Steve caught him, grunting a little with the sudden weight.

Bucky was graceful and all, but he was pretty heavy. Lucky for them, Steve was pretty strong.

Bucky looked at Steve and smiled brightly, like he was pleased.

"Thank you," he said, and hooked one arm around Steve's shoulders for balance, using his other hand to undo the rope knotted around him.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked.

Bucky finished undoing the rope, and managed to push the coils away, letting them fall to the floor. "Yes," he replied, looking at Steve again.

He was so close, so very close right now. Steve couldn't look away. Bucky watched him, and they spent the longest moment gazing into each other's eyes.

Then Bucky's lips quirked into a smile. "You can put me down now."

"Oh." Steve felt his face flush. "I... yeah." He set Bucky down carefully and Bucky was still smiling when Steve took a step back. "Sorry," Steve said.

"For what?" Bucky asked, nonplussed.

Steve didn't know what to say, and he worried he was being far too obvious and awkward right now in Bucky's presence.

Usually, in situations like this, like whenever Bucky spoke to him, sober Steve would blush and fidget, then hastily make an exit.

But this time when Steve mumbled an apology and turned to go, Bucky reached out and touched Steve's arm, and Steve froze in place.

"Are you sorry for avoiding me, perhaps?" Bucky asked.

Steve resolutely avoided looking at Bucky's face. He felt embarrassed and inadequate in his presence. Sweat pricked his temples as he desperately tried to think of a way to save face.

"Or," Bucky said, softer this time, "are you sorry for what you said?"

Steve looked at Bucky then, searching his face for some explanation. Bucky looked right back, seeming to do the same, and their eyes locked.

 _Oh_ , Steve thought, as his belly dipped and swooped with a whole lot of feelings all at once.

Bucky was still waiting for his response, and Steve swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. "No," he admitted. "But... I was... uh..."

"Drunk?" Bucky filled in.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "That."

"So?" Bucky folded his arms, seemed to shrink in on himself a bit. "You did not mean it?"

It would be easy, Steve thought, so very easy to blame it all on too much alcohol, and to keep his infatuation a secret.

But, Steve was a terrible liar, and he preferred being honest when given the choice.

"I wouldn't say that," he murmured, feeling his blush return in full force.

Bucky looked up in surprise, gazing at Steve like he'd just said something incredible.

Steve offered him a smile in return, a nervous one, but a smile all the same.

Bucky stepped closer, wetting his lips with his tongue, and his blue-gray eyes searched Steve's. "Say it again."

"Oh, um..." Steve felt far too shy, and far too sober. "I'm not so good at..." He shifted on the spot, looking at the floor instead of Bucky.

"Steve..." Bucky reached out, but they were interrupted by the sound of people entering the tent.

Pietro, Clint, and Wanda, all chattering as they brought in their equipment, probably coming to train as well.

Bucky huffed in annoyance, and took a step back. Steve knew their time was up.

"Steve," Bucky said firmly. "If you want to say it again, come to my trailer after dinner. And, if you don't," he shrugged once, "we never have to mention this again."

He turned on his heel and left, giving Steve a great view of his shapely ass in those leggings as he walked away. Steve couldn't help but watch, and when Bucky looked back at him over his shoulder, smirking at having caught Steve's gaze, Steve figured he'd planned that move too.

Steve kind of liked it.

He wasn't sure if he was dreaming all this or not, but he couldn't stand around all day, there was still a circus to set up. He hurried over to the tent's other exit, intending to go back to the job he'd been doing earlier, when Sam, one of the big top crew, came in wheeling a heavy crate.

"Steve!" he greeted. "Give us a hand?"

"Sure." Steve went to take over the crate, wheeling it to where Sam instructed.

There were plenty more crates to move, so Steve helped Sam with the rest of the shifting. Steve was used to doing jobs whenever asked, anything and everything around the circus.

He tried not to look over at Bucky with the other performers, chatting among themselves as they set up their own equipment.

Sam must've noticed, and he grinned slyly as he said in passing, "What were you and the Russian talking about?"

"He needed a hand," Steve answered, which wasn't untrue, but it probably would've seemed more believable if he weren't blushing.

Sam chuckled, but mercifully didn't tease him any more after that.

 

~

 

Later that evening, when all the set up had been done, and dinners eaten, people either went to sleep in their trailers or gathered inside the big top for hot chocolate and sharing stories.

And, sometimes, a bottle of the finest Russian vodka was passed around at those gatherings, which was what had gotten Steve drunk a week and a half ago.

Steve didn't go to the gathering tonight. He had a nice shower, and changed into his cleanest clothes, smartening himself up best he could.

Then he crossed over to the adjoining field where the circus was camped, found some wildflowers growing in the long grass, and picked a handful of the prettiest ones.

All in all, it wasn't much, but it was the best Steve had to offer.

He hoped it would be enough.

Steve headed across the dark and quiet campsite, where all the circus workers lived and slept in their own little travelling trailer park. The lights of the circus big top on the other side of the field were lit, ready for their first show in town tomorrow, where everything else in the circus would be lit up and playing music.

Steve picked his way silently between trailers, until he got to the single camper vans that only the big stars had. He located Bucky's trailer, and with hope soaring in his chest, he knocked softly at the door.

The lights were on inside, and Steve didn't have to wait long before the door opened inward, and Bucky stood there looking down at him.

He had changed out of his costume and into sweats, but still had on his stage make-up; black, red, and silver painted around his eyes and swept outward, like a mask of color on his pale skin.

Bucky smiled when Steve wordlessly offered him the flowers. He took them, holding the stems in one hand as he tucked the other hand under his arm, clearly waiting.

"Um..." Steve shifted from foot to foot on the ground, looking at the wooden steps in front of Bucky's door. He felt like he was on the precipice of something exciting, but was still unsure of his place.

Bucky prompted, "Say it again?"

Steve took a deep breath, and said, "Bucky, you... you're the most beautiful person I know, and..." Steve flushed hot, and said in a hurry, "and I like you a whole lot."

Bucky snorted, causing Steve to look up sheepishly.

"That was not what you said that night, Steve."

"I know." Steve smiled wryly. "But I was very drunk then, and I don't want to..."

 _Lay myself totally bare_ , he thought.

Steve bit his lip.

Bucky leaned on the doorjam, studying Steve. "Alcohol lowers inhibition," he said at last.

Steve chuckled at that. "Sure does."

"I have alcohol," Bucky offered.

Steve looked up, saw the slow smile spread over Bucky's face.

"Is... is that a good idea?" Steve asked, because he had to make sure.

Bucky shrugged a shoulder, and moved aside to beckon Steve in. "We won't know until tomorrow," he said. "Come inside?"

Steve didn't need to be asked twice. He nodded eagerly, and stumbled up the steps in his haste.

Bucky closed the door after him, and gestured for Steve to sit down. First, Steve took off his boots, because that was standard manners for trailers. He left his boots by the door, and carefully sat down on the plush little sofa-bed, which was currently pulled out flat and big enough for two, covered in soft throws and plump cushions.

Steve sat on the very edge, thrilled at touching Bucky's bed like this. He watched Bucky get out two small glasses from his kitchenette and pour large measures of strong Russian vodka.

 _Oh, boy_ , Steve thought, but he smiled when Bucky handed him his glass.

"Thank you," Steve said, as Bucky sat down close to him.

"Your health," he said, offering his glass to toast.

Steve smiled shyly, and touched his glass to Bucky's.

"And yours."

Bucky drank his down in one, so Steve copied him, coughing only a bit from the sharp taste of the vodka.

"Okay?" Bucky asked, shifting to sit with one leg tucked up underneath him.

"Yeah, swell," Steve insisted, his eyes watering only a little.

Bucky bit his lip, obviously trying not to smile. Then he reached a hand out, said, "The small black bag, Steve. Will you pass to me?"

Steve looked over to the set of built in shelves next to the bed, and he reached across to retrieve a wash-bag.

"Thank you," Bucky said, when Steve handed it over. He opened it up, glancing at Steve when he brought out pads of cotton wool and a bottle of some oil. "You mind?"

"Huh? Oh, no," Steve assured him. "No, of course not. Do what you gotta do."

Bucky grinned at him, opening the little bottle of sweet smelling oil. "I cannot go to bed with this on, you see."

"Um, yeah." Steve swallowed, and watched as Bucky wet a cotton pad with oil, then started to carefully wipe away his stage make-up, taking his time about it.

"Pour another?" Bucky said, gesturing to the vodka.

"Oh, sure." Steve refilled their glasses, offering one to Bucky.

"What is your toast?" Bucky prompted, holding his glass.

Russians liked to drink toasts, Steve knew. But he couldn't think of a toast that wasn't entirely inappropriate, or too forward.

"Um," he stalled.

After a beat of awkward silence, Bucky said, "Perhaps, a toast to lowered inhibitions?"

Steve blushed, but he raised his glass to toast with a smile. "To lowered inhibitions."

 

After around the third or fourth vodka shot, Steve felt more relaxed.

He got comfortable on Bucky's bed, as Bucky cleaned his face and asked Steve about his day, and how the big top set up had gone.

It helped, to talk about work, about mundane things. Steve hadn't had a conversation this long with Bucky in the entire time he'd known him, so his nerves were a-flutter while his heart thudded happily.

At around shot number five, Bucky got in under his covers and laid back on the pillows. He turned on his side, propped his head up with his hand, and patted the space next to him.

Steve complied, and took off his jacket before laying down next to Bucky.

When they were eye level, Bucky's eyes bright and clear of make-up, he smiled at Steve, and laid his hand out palm up on the pillow.

"Will you stay?" he asked.

Steve nodded, and slid his hand into Bucky's, their fingers intertwining. "If you want me to."

Bucky squeezed his hand. "Yes." Then he grinned wickedly. "Are your inhibitions low enough to say what you said?"

"Right now?" Steve grinned back. "Yeah, I'm pretty drunk, actually."

Bucky searched his eyes, whispered, "Say it again?"

Steve inhaled, then spoke. "Bucky... you're the most beautiful person I know, and I love you so much, you have no idea."

Bucky let out a shaky breath, like he'd been holding it in. "Thank you, Steve." He moved to lean over him, long hair tickling Steve's cheeks as he pressed a kiss to Steve's forehead. "And, I do have some idea."

He cupped his hand to Steve's face as he looked down at him, and Steve could only blink back up at him in sheer amazement.

"Stay?" Bucky asked, and Steve smiled happily.

"With pleasure."

 

~

 

The morning was bright and sunny, light filtering in through the trailer's little windows and thin drapes.

Steve had slept in a bit too long, and he slid out of bed now and dressed in a hurry. He'd have to head back to his own trailer to change into work clothes before he could start working.

Today the circus opened, and he couldn't be late.

He pulled on his jacket as he glanced over at Bucky, still asleep in the bed. Steve smiled, his heart still thumping happily at this new found thing between them.

His head was thumping a little from the vodka too, but, that was okay.

Bucky stirred, opening his eyes as Steve leaned in over him.

"Going?" he asked, voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah, I gotta go set up." Steve tentatively reached a hand out, smoothed some of Bucky's long dark hair from his face.

Bucky smiled, and closed his eyes again as he nuzzled back into the pillow. "I will find you later," he murmured.

"Sure," Steve replied, excited and relieved at Bucky's words.

He really did have to go, though.

Before he left, he gave into his impulse and dipped close to kiss Bucky's cheek briefly, which had Bucky making a pleased noise.

"See you later, Buck."

Bucky murmured a goodbye, and Steve went to pick up his boots, and quietly exited the trailer.

Bucky would be up and about later. Steve hoped he'd see him again today.

He sat on the trailer's steps outside to pull on his boots one by one. It was a warm, sunny morning. That would mean big crowds for opening day.

Steve stepped onto the grass and swung his jacket over his shoulder, then set off walking between the trailers.

A window on a nearby trailer popped open, giving Steve a fright as Clint leaned out, shirtless and with bed-hair, and brandishing a mug of coffee in his hand.

"Fucking _finally!_ " he said with glee, raising his coffee at Steve and grinning wide.

Steve gaped, stunned to stillness, but when a familiar redhead appeared in the window next to Clint, also with bed-hair and grinning happily, Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

"You guys should mind your own business," he told Clint and Natasha, who chuckled and waved at him as he walked away.

When Steve's back was to the trailers and he started the walk across the field, he allowed himself a happy smile.

_Finally._

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ~  
> ~
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> I am on [tumblr](http://jro616.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/jro616).
> 
> And here is a [rebloggable post on tumblr](https://jro616.tumblr.com/post/173545064960/what-if-i-fall-oh-but-my-darling-what-if-you) for the fic.


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